Junkyard Metal
by LukoTaika
Summary: While looking through a junkyard, Donatello thinks of his family and how they are a lot like the random pieces of "junk." Misunderstood, rejected, yet worth so much more.


**Here's a oneshot that I came up with just now, and it's a little bit pointless but I hope someone enjoys it. Read and Review please!**

* * *

The night sky stretched far out in all directions, its darkness warded off by the stark city lights. Somewhere in this city; this large, bright city of New York; a teenager dug through a small junkyard that the night's darkness actually reached. The yard was overcrowded with random tidbits of objects that any normal person wouldn't know what to call or do with (Except maybe the cars). But this teen was definitely not normal. He was a mutant, and a smart one at that. He was Donatello.

The young turtle hummed softly as he rummaged through the odd ends and pieces of junk and trash. '_Now who'd want to throw all this good stuff away?' _he silently mused, picking up a bit of twisted and deformed metal. He had the true mind of an inventor and to him the possibilities were endless for this random piece of "nothing" (_Funny, how a little "worthless" scrap of "nothing" could turn out to be so much more_). In that small bit of metal, he saw the door handle to his new modified battleshell he was working on; or, maybe with a little bit of work, a pull-up bar for Raph and the others when they felt the need to work out. He nodded to himself and put the scrap in his bag. Yes, possibilities were endless for one little twisted bit of junk if it was just given the chance.

At this, Donny sighed, his mind wandering to his brothers. He realized, not for the first nor the last time, that they were a lot like the pieces of metal in this junkyard; misunderstood, different, rejected and cast out by the world and yet worth so much more. If only the humans could see the mutants' value, what they could do, what they could become, Donatello and his brothers could reach their full potential, bending and twisting and stretching into whatever they wanted to do, whatever they wanted to _become_.

Picking up another random misshapen piece of scrap, the purple-banded turtle squinted, thinking of all that this could be a part of.

"You don't deserve to be in this place," he whispered. "You're worth so much more than this." He didn't really know who or what he was actually talking to, but they were words that he felt he had to say to somebody, to anybody. _Something_ deserved to know its true worth in this world, even if it was just a twisted scrap of metal.

Maybe that's why he loved inventing so much. The little things and machines that he tinkered with were what he could understand; they were what he could _fix_. Like how that poor little toaster, which had endured more breaks and fixes than even he the fixer could remember, was something that he could often find himself and his family relating to. It had been used and broken almost countless times, yet Donny refused to throw it away because it could still make it through another day; was still able to serve the family; was still able to do so much more. It just needed the chance. Things that his brothers considered junk, Don could find himself thinking of as treasures.

_A lot like life,_ He thought bitterly. After digging through a new pile and picking up a long, smooth, flat piece of metal, he pictured what he could create out of this new find. It wasn't fair, he realized. It wasn't fair that his family had so much to do, had so much that they could give to the world, yet they would never get (_were never given_) the chance to because they were _different_. Don hated the term. They weren't that different. Though yes, maybe dramatically so in looks, but in heart and desire they were much the same as every other resident of New York City. Looking down at his duffle where all his previous finds of the night were, the young inventor sighed and threw the piece he was currently holding back in the pile it came from, causing a loud _clang_ to echo throughout the yard. _We don't deserve to be like this,_ he thought, almost angrily, to himself. _We're worth so much more. We would do great things; we could be whatever we want to be. It's just not fair!_

The young turtle clenched then unclenched his fists as he thought of all that his family could do; all that they could be. Leonardo, their beloved leader, could help others find peace and tranquility in their lives, the way that he himself often found it in his own; through meditation, determination, and the art of the ninja. He could teach others what it was to be a leader, because if there was one thing that Donatello knew, it was that New York needed good leaders (_But Don had followed him first, ever since they were young; that shy determination that overcame him when he'd given his first orders_). Raphael was something special, someone who deserved to be out there in the world with others like him. He could probably be a war hero, or maybe help others get out their anger and stress and overcome their life challenges and daily fights. He could help others like him the way that he helped his brothers; he could be someone else's rock, someone else's sure foundation when all seemed lost. Then there was Michelangelo. Donatello smiled a bit at the thought of his little brother, his _only_ little brother. He could be a gift to the public in ways that no one could ever imagine, spreading his light and good humor to all he could reach. Mikey could do almost anything, Don was sure of it.

As for Donatello himself, he knew that he loved learning. He loved the satisfied feeling that he got when he finished something new, the way that all the long and exhausting hours would all of a sudden come together to make something great and powerful. He loved to create something that others could use, and that's how he decided that whatever he did, he'd like to have someone else to be there with him; someone else who shared his love of knowledge and creation. Don wanted to create more than just machines and technology. He wanted to create the next line of honest and thoughtful inventors. He wanted to be a teacher. If not that, then at least be a mentor.

The purple-clad turtle sighed and shifted his bag on his shoulders. All those dreams, all those honest hopeful wishes, they might become nothing but just those: dreams and wishes. He hated that fact, that ever-present understanding. He hated how he _accepted_ it. He hated that it was all he really knew he could do.

(_Some nights he found himself staring at the same invention for hours, hours, hours. It was good. It was really good. But it was useless to his family. If only he could give it to someone up on the surface. He knew, up there, someone could actually use it._)

Let it be over with. Let the ax fall. His family didn't deserve this, the way that they had to constantly be in the shadows, never being able to fully appreciate the sunlight without the constant worry of getting caught. His brothers didn't deserve to constantly hide who they were because the world rejected them, because they were _different_. They weren't just pieces of misshapen junk that could be cast aside because no one could (_No, would_) understand them. They deserved to be all that they could be. They deserved so much more.

_We're all worth so much more._

Sighing and looking around one last time, Donatello decided that he had found all that was useful to him for tonight. With his duffle carefully balanced on his shoulder, the young purple-clad turtle turned and headed towards the nearest manhole. Reaching the edge of the yard, he looked back at all the junk, all the piles of scrap and metal that the world didn't see fit to be useful. Then, he turned and vanished into the shadows.

* * *

_The End_


End file.
